


Heartbeat of the Earth

by PhoenixSpirit



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Mermaids, Ocean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25218025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixSpirit/pseuds/PhoenixSpirit
Summary: Steve has lived alone in his cottage by the ocean since his mother died a year ago. He spends his time drawing sketches for people in other towns, struggling to keep up his home as his health dwindles. When he meets a man who has lost all memory of who he is, Steve offers to help for as long as he can. He doesn't expect just how much Bucky will come to mean to him, and how intertwined their pasts will turn out to be.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Heartbeat of the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> CW for this chapter: Discussion of death of a loved one, one character thinks another is trying to take their own life (they are not). Read safely, everyone!

Every night since his mother died, Steve dreamt of the ocean. In the soft moments between wakefulness and sleep he could almost feel his body rocking, moving with the waves, could almost hear them crashing against the cliffside. It was soothing, comforting.

Steve loved how close his small cottage sat to the sea. If he left his window open at night, as he often did in the sweltering heat of summer, he could hear the waves pulsing back and forth. If he walked around to the back of his house and looked to the west, he could see the water stretching out, farther than he could fathom. 

Still, he hadn’t dreamt of the ocean like this before his mother’s passing, and the fact that he did so often now scared him. Was he secretly, deep-down, hoping the ocean would take him away? He didn’t think so, however devastated and lonely he had been this past year. Was it an omen of change? Would he be drifting in the near future, no place to put down his roots?

He didn’t mind change, but he wasn’t a fan of drifting. He liked having a place to call home.

\----------------------

Steve loved the people of his town, he really did. Truly.

But sometimes, once in a while, just for a few moments every day, he was infinitely glad that he lived an hours’ walk away from most of his neighbors and that their interactions were mostly limited to his errand trips. He had spent the first few years of his life living right in the middle of town with his mother, and since her passing many townsfolk had taken it upon themselves to be his adoptive parents.

Never mind the fact that he was over twenty years old and very much capable of fending for himself.

He tried not to sigh as Mrs. Gransbury asked him, once again, if he was _sure_ he was alright, and why hadn’t she seen him in over a week? He mustered a smile instead.

“I really appreciate your concern, but I’m doing well, promise. Working hard on all my commissions,” he said as he placed a few coins on the counter. He began loading up his saddlebags with the week’s purchases: flour, sugar, oats, potatoes, ink, parchment, and a couple of apples. It wasn’t much, but then again he was only feeding himself.

Mrs. Gransbury furrowed her eyebrows and sighed. “If you say so,” she said. “But if you don’t start coming to town at least once a week I’m going to have to send Dill out to check on you.”

Steve winced. She meant well, but he had never exactly been on friendly terms with her burly, outspoken son. Two weeks ago, in fact, Steve had run into Dill and his friends just outside of the shoemaker’s house. They’d been having a great time catcalling at the ladies walking by, and Steve had tried to put a stop to it. His ribs had only just stopped aching, not that he was going to say anything to Mrs. Gransbury.

“No need for that, Mrs. Gransbury. I promise I’ll stop by when I can. I can take care of myself.”

She waved her hands and tutted for a few more minutes, but Steve eventually made it out of the shop and back to Pattie, his small horse. He loaded up the saddlebags and gripped her reins, opting to walk beside her to his next stop.

Jack was much easier to deal with than Mrs. Gransbury. As a traveling merchant, he too only passed through town occasionally. He was quiet, blunt, and had little patience for gossip. Steve smiled as he approached Jack’s stall and spotted the man sitting behind the counter.

“Hi Jack,” he said. “Did you just get in?”

Jack glanced up at Steve and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the empty sliver of wood behind his wares. “About two days ago,” he said gruffly. “Spent a bit longer in Vincely than I usually do. But I found you lots of customers.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “From Vincely?” The people there were generally known for their wealth and fondness for finery. He had a hard time imagining anybody there would be interested in his parchment sketches, no matter how interesting the subject matter.

“Yep, and before you ask, it’s the young lads and ladies there. Most of ‘em have never seen the ocean and want a glimpse. I may have bragged about your work and convinced ‘em to pay double what you usually charge.” Jack winked and lifted a small bag.

Steve frowned. “I don’t know how I feel about that,” he said.

Jack scoffed and tucked the bag away. “You’ll feel fine about it when you get the paycheck, that’s how you’ll feel. They have the money, Steve, and thought your work was worth it. Just accept it.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Okay, but no more raising my prices on your own like that.” Jack rolled his eyes and leaned back, crossing his arms. He didn’t reply, so Steve continued, “Anyway, I brought the latest round of commissions for you to deliver.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a sizable stack of parchment. Jack held out his hands and Steve handed it over carefully. 

“Thanks, Steve,” Jack muttered, and pulled out the small bag again. He counted the sketches and pulled a few silver coins and a stack of coppers from the bag. “And here’s what I owe you.” He reached down and lifted a sheet of parchment from his saddleback. “Here’s the list of new commissions, and as always I’ll take whatever extra sketches you have to sell from my stall.”

Steve smiled. “Thank you too, Jack.” He scanned over the list. Beach, sunny day; beach, rainy day; seals and dolphins; several requests for waves crashing on the cliffs; mermaids. “Mermaids?” He said. “Nobody’s asked for that before.”

Jack shrugged. “Some kid from Spifa, swore his father saw one, wanted a memento. Told him you might not agree.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s okay, I can do it. I was just surprised.” He tucked the list away in his saddlebag and stroked Pattie’s nose. “See you next time, Jack.”

Jack gave him a half-smile and waved. “Keep up the good work, friend.”

Steve hopped onto Pattie’s back and directed her towards home. The trip passed quickly and uneventfully, familiar as it was. When they arrived at the cottage, he secured Pattie in the stable, fed her, and unloaded his saddlebags. He ached all over from the exertion, as he usually did on days when he went to town, so he laid down in his rickety bed in the corner.

He felt restless.

He glanced over at his mother’s empty bed on the other side of the cottage and squeezed his eyes shut. On sunny days like this, she’d insist that they walk by the ocean together, dip their feet in the waves. 

It had only been a year. Steve’s heart ached. He bolted out of bed and tied his shoes back on. Before he knew it he’d hiked down the cliffs and was walking by that very ocean, trying to pretend his eyes were watering at the wind and the salty spray. Some days were harder than others.

When the sun indicated it was past midday, he turned back towards his cottage. He still had plenty of chores to do: animals to feed and check up on, garden to tend to. He regretted wasting his nap. 

Glancing up, Steve paused as he noticed a dark figure standing on the edge of a nearby cliff, hundreds of feet above the waves. Steve frowned. Nobody but him lived out here, and he wasn’t expecting visitors. The person stepped closer to the edge, full of intent. Steve’s jaw dropped. They couldn’t be…

They jumped.

Steve watched with wide eyes as the figure plummeted towards the sea and disappeared beneath the waves. The fall alone might have knocked them out, maybe worse, but they’d landed not a hundred\ feet from where he stood. He couldn’t just wait there and do _nothing_. Cursing, he ripped off his shoes and waded into the water.

\----------------------

Steve’s first thought was that the afterlife consisted of too much pain. His throat and lungs burned, his head throbbed, and every muscle ached. His first attempt at breathing resulted in a salt-tinged gurgle. Something pounded on his chest and he coughed, forcing his eyes open.

A well-muscled man in dripping clothes loomed over him, expression serious. Startled, Steve jolted upright and gasped as his muscles protested. His palms scraped against the sand. The man jumped to his feet and stepped back, hands up. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Steve wanted to inform him that _no_ , he was very much not okay, but a barrage of coughs interrupted his train of thought. Dimly, he realized that the man appeared to be the same person who had jumped off the cliff.

In other words, this was all his fault. Steve wished he could muster a proper glare.

The man eyed him for a few moments, breathing quite heavily himself. Then he exploded. “What on earth were you thinking, wandering out into the ocean when you clearly can’t swim?” He demanded. “You almost died!”

Steve was still gasping, trying to remember how to breathe properly. “I…” he gasped, “I had…a plan.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “A plan.”

His dry tone grated on Steve, and anger welled up in his chest. He propped himself up on his elbows and managed that glare. “Yes, a plan! To...” he coughed and shuddered, and finally felt his lungs calm somewhat. “To save a stupid idiot...from taking his own life! Listen, there’s nothing that we… that we can’t…” He was cut off by a tremendously unattractive snort and felt his own glare deepen. “What?”

The man crouched down on the sand so he and Steve were roughly on the same level. “Why did you assume I was trying to take my own life?” He asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you were standing all dark and broody on the edge of a fucking _cliff_?”

“Language,” the man muttered and Steve felt like punching him.

“So you’re telling me that you were what, just going for a casual swim? Fully clothed? And you decided to start with a two hundred-foot dive?”

“Yes.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right,” he said, and turned over to push himself to his feet, surprised by how quickly he seemed to be recovering from near-death. He turned to face the man again and found him standing up, looking extremely unimpressed.

“And you're the one to talk? Mister my-grand-plan-centers-around-swimming-but-wait-I-can’t-swim? Did you just want to drown alongside me?” Steve flinched as he felt the words strike him deep down. He clenched his jaw.

“I wanted to save you,” he said. “To save you and show you that life is worth living no matter what happens. Maybe offer you a place to stay in exchange for some work. And yes, my plan had a flaw…” Once again he was interrupted by a snort, but Steve barreled forward. “Yes, it had a flaw. But I was doing my best.”

The man gazed at him and for the first time Steve noticed that his eyes were the exact color of the ocean on an overcast day, blue-gray and beautiful. For some reason it made him even more annoyed. He started to turn away, fully intending to walk back to his house and wallow in embarrassment for the rest of the evening, when the man stepped forward.

“Wait. Listen,” he said, “I’m sorry. I was just surprised about what you did and, yeah, maybe judging you for not being able to swim when you live right next to the ocean.” Steve opened his mouth to let him know just what he thought of that, but the man held up his hand. “I know, that’s arrogant and unfair and that’s why I’m apologizing, okay? I respect what you were trying to do. And I think you have a good heart.”

“A good heart.” It was Steve’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’m touched.”

“It’s honestly a compliment.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll forgive me for not falling to my knees in gratitude.”

The man let out a long breath. “Okay, I get why you’re upset. But that thing you said before, about a place to stay? That would actually be incredibly helpful. I’m kind of in a rough spot right now.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He shied away from the thought of abandoning somebody in need, but, frankly, this man was irritating. And Steve _really_ needed to privately wallow in embarrassment for a while.

One look at the man, however, with those gorgeous eyes and earnest expression, a hint of teasing still present in his quirked brow, his perpetual smirk, swayed Steve’s heart. It was probably a bad idea to let a complete stranger into his home (his mention of it earlier had been rather impulsive and half-baked), but, well. He really could use the help.

And should this man rob him, hurt him, even take his life, he really didn’t have much to lose. Come winter it would all be over anyway.

“Alright. You can stay, as long as you help me around the house in exchange.” 

The man froze, surprised, before he visibly relaxed and shot Steve a small smile. “Thank you,” he said, and shrugged. “I feel like I should say more, but...”

“Maybe you could tell me your name? That would probably be useful to know.” Steve turned away, stepping towards the path that led to his house. He heard no sign of the man following him and, turning back around, discovered that he’d cast his eyes to the ground.

“I...I’m.” The man heaved a sigh and laughed humorlessly. “I was gonna come up with a name but I should probably just be honest with you. I don’t know what my name is.” He lifted his head again and met Steve’s eyes. “I don’t know where I’m from, or how I ended up here. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m a good person.”

Steve had no idea what to say as he looked at the devastation clear in the man’s eyes. He shrugged and scrambled for words. “I obviously don’t know if you were a good person before,” he said eventually. “Before you forgot everything, that is. Right? It seems like you forgot everything. But what matters to me is that you want to be a good person now. Do you?”

The man bit his lower lip and nodded. “Yeah, I think I do. Not just think. I do. I really do.”

Steve smiled. “Good. Well, since you don’t know your own name, is it okay if I call you Buchanan? It was my dog’s name.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to name me after your dog.” 

Steve blushed. “He was a really good dog,” he muttered, then narrowed his eyes. “Besides, you owe me one for being so rude to me earlier. I thought you wanted to be a good person.”

The man considered him for a moment, then a slow smile stretched across his face. It was brighter than anything Steve had seen in a long time. Something stirred deep in his chest and his breath hitched. He couldn’t stop staring.

“Yeah,” the man said. “Okay. But can you at least shorten it to Bucky?”


End file.
